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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478458">Docendo Discimus</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tstate_wranglerr/pseuds/tstate_wranglerr'>tstate_wranglerr</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hamilton - Miranda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:01:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25478458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tstate_wranglerr/pseuds/tstate_wranglerr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>By teaching, we learn.</p><p>In which Alexander Hamilton knows it all, except for anything regarding John Laurens. And he hated it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Thomas Jefferson/Angelica Schuyler</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Docendo discimus - by teaching, we learn</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Behind him, Alex could hear the howling winds of an incoming snowstorm. They banged against the window, shaking them with every harsh exhale.</p><p>Though it wasn't cold in his classroom, Alex couldn't help but shiver.</p><p>He so desperately wanted to be in his and Eliza's 5th-floor apartment. There, the sound of the 6th replay of Home Alone would block whatever sound mother nature dared make. Alex would make three cups of fresh hot chocolate, filling all of them to the brim with colorful marshmallows. Between you and me, Alex didn't use to like marshmallows that much, but whenever he made hot chocolate, or made ice cream, or made whatever that could possibly use marshmallows, he always filled or topped it to the brim. Eliza would always hold her mug with two hands, and Philip would follow suit. He'd always get angry when his hair fell in the mug but always refused to cut it even a little bit shorter. When asked, he'd always say 'I'll grow it out to be like daddy!'</p><p>But he wasn't. He hadn't been in a while. Instead, he was in a dark, empty classroom that shook whenever the wind blew. A shitty classroom where the trashcan was almost completely full of lesson plans that would never see the light of day. Posters that didn't really reflect Alex, but taught good lessons if one chose to read them.</p><p>Nothing in his room really reflect him, even though he had been teaching at Highland Heights for years, and been in the same classroom for many of those. At a point, it had reflected him. His desk was covered in photos of him with friends and family, him meeting various politicians and even the president. But now, there was nothing. Sometimes, his desk would be clean--only for a brief period--and his wallet would rest in the upper left-hand corner. But that was very rare.</p><p>Alex sighed and drew a large 'X' over yet another page of lesson plans, tossing it in the trash with the rest of them. He'd have to take it out soon.</p><p>He was working hard. He had to. There were only two eighth grade history teachers, and one had recently left for a better job upstate. Now Alex was stuck with some stupid, 85-year-old sub who was closer to death than he was to the age of his girlfriend. The guy knew nothing about history. If you asked him when the declaration was signed, he'd probably answer '1942'.</p><p>Alex pleaded for a teacher. Hell, he begged. Two days ago, he showed up on the Washington's doorstep, his pants and shoes soaked from the fresh snow, his cheeks and nose red from the winds (or was it the crying? who knows.) and damn near begged for something, anything, even just a tidbit of information, a tiny glimmer of hope. 'It doesn't even have to be true, George! Just lie to me, please!'.</p><p>Not his proudest moment, but he thinks it got his point across (Neither of the Washingtons, nor their dogs, know how to feel about it, though).</p><p>A polite knock on the door startles him and he looks up as Eliza enters the classroom, shutting the door behind her.</p><p>"Eliza, my angel, I'll be just a moment."</p><p>She pulls a chair up to the side of the desk, setting her bag on her lap as she sits.</p><p>"I'm worried about you, Alexander."</p><p>He merely raises an eyebrow as he bends down to pick his backpack up. He begins to shove his work sloppily into his bag, the paper crumpling under his fingers. He glances up at Eliza momentarily and shakes his head, "No need," A small smile, "I'm fine."</p><p>Eliza shakes her head, "You say that every time."</p><p>It's clear that she cares deeply about Alexander. She cares deeply about everybody she meets. She always searches for the good in people, ignoring all the red flags and alarms screaming for her to 'stop! stop!'.</p><p>Eliza needed something to believe in, especially when she could not believe in herself. If you asked her, the reason she became a teacher is to 'help students reach their true potential' (how cliche is that?) but the truth was because the kids gave her something to believe in. They weren't young--they weren't little, helpless, naive, innocent children. They were nothing like Philip, his eyes wide with wonder whenever he did anything, no matter how boring it may be. No, these children were becoming teenagers. Some had been through hell, some had most things handed to them. They understood enough. Understood the world enough to be mad at it. Understood things enough to not question them, even when they should have been. They were figuring themselves out, the hardest thing you can do, and they did it, often without help. Without asking. Without anything but their minds and their want. And, often, they understood themselves and the world a lot more than Eliza did, especially in recent years. And she needed to believe in that because she could no longer believe in herself.</p><p>Alex shrugs, a stack of ungraded essays regarding the constitutional convention making their way into his bag, "If you don't want the answer, don't ask the question."</p><p>"Take a break, Alex. You're overworking yourself. How long has it been since you've slept?"</p><p>Alex knows she knows the answer but ignores the look on her face by hastily shoving more papers into his backpack. "Enough." A one-word answer. Typical.</p><p>"Alex." He mistakenly looks over at her, his heart breaking when he sees her face.</p><p>He presses his lips into a tight line and shakes his head, "I'm sorry, my angel. It's just," He sighs, "It's hard."</p><p>She leans forward and rests a hand on his, stopping him from zipping up his backpack.</p><p>"You are not going through this alone, Alex. Never, for a moment, think that."</p><p>He nods, his throat dry as he swallows, "I know. I wasn't the only one who lost something. I know."</p><p>Eliza shakes her head, "I love you, Alex."</p><p>"I love you too, Eliza." He nods.</p><p>A knock on the door interrupts them, and a head of poofy hair pops in, an awkward, toothy smile on his lips.</p><p>"Am I interrupting?"</p><p>Eliza shakes her head, removing her hand from Alex's and standing up.</p><p>"Nothing, Thomas."</p><p>He gives her a look but doesn't push it, instead tilting his head away from the door.</p><p>"Angie couldn't find you, figured you might be in here."</p><p>As she nears the door, he takes her bag, sending her around the corner for her sister as he stands at the door waiting for Alex.</p><p>Alex hates Thomas Jefferson.</p><p>Okay, Alex has to admit that he doesn't hate Jefferson anymore. For the first few years they knew each other, they were basically rivals. Jefferson and Hamilton met during a college debate. They attended different colleges, and Jefferson was the one to initiate the 'friendship' by asking (more commanding) Alex to give him his phone number so that they could debate.</p><p>Argue.</p><p>They argued.</p><p>A lot.</p><p>Then Alex made the mistake of introducing Angelica to Jefferson. And now... well, they'll be married just as soon as Jefferson can grow a pair and ask.</p><p>"Alexander," Thomas says, a smile on his face.</p><p>"Thomas."</p><p>He puts a hand on Alex's back, urging him out of the classroom.</p><p>He glances around the corner to see Angelica and Eliza talking a few feet down. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and shows Alex.</p><p>The box itself is simple, probably homemade, stained wood. He pulls it open to reveal the actual ring. It's fancy and dramatic--his entire personality--but also regal and somehow commanding? Which is exactly the type of person Angelica is.</p><p>Alex can't help but marvel at it, his eyes scanning the intricacies of the diamonds. It's then that he notices his hands are shaking, which only makes his eyes wider. He looks up to see a nervous look on his face.</p><p>"Do you think she'll like it?"</p><p>"Thomas, this is..." For the first time in his life, Alex is speechless.</p><p>Thomas smiles a wider smile than Alex has ever seen from him, "It's a family heirloom. Father used it on my mother, his father on his wife, his father on his wife."</p><p>"When?"</p><p>"It's her Christmas present. I have the Schuyler's blessings. I just need to talk to the children, but I'll do that later so they don't snitch."</p><p>Alex lets out a soft laugh, quickly shoving Thomas's hand towards him as he notices the two girls moving towards them. He shoves his hand and the box into his pocket just as Angelica rounds the corner, a suspicious look on her face.</p><p>"What are you boys talking about?" She asks.</p><p>"Telling our dearest Hamilton here," He says, placing the hand that once held the ring on Alex's back, "About the rumors of a new history teacher."</p><p>He looks up, hope evident on his face.</p><p>"What rumors? I haven't heard anything." Eliza looks just as confused and hopeful as Alex.</p><p>Angelica sighs, taking Jeffersons' arm.</p><p>"George was talking," She says, "I overhead it during 6th lunch. He was talking about hiring a new history teacher, some guy that's never taught a class before. They were doing the interview on the phone. John something, I think. I swear, I would've told you, but you were teaching."</p><p>"A new teacher?" Alex asks, a large smile on his face.</p><p>Angelica nods.</p><p>"This is the best news I've heard all day!"</p><p>Thomas gives him a look.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Per Angusta Ad Augusta</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Per Angusta Ad Augusta - through difficulties to honors</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Alex sat alone in his living room, he could picture Eliza and Philip sitting on the floor, playing some game that Philip had created and begging Alex to join in. It's the only time Alex took a break. He wishes he had taken them more.</p><p>But he was alone in an empty apartment, the icy rain pounding on the windows and the balcony, most definitely ruining the plants. Alex didn't care, though. He barely took care of them anyways.</p><p>He lets out a heavy sigh and reaches forward for the TV remote, turning the TV on to interrupt his thoughts. There's never any good shows on Sunday night, and tonight is no exception. It's some talk show Alex has never seen before, and he turns it up loud enough to hear the words, but not loud enough to care about them.</p><p>He sips hot chocolate--the good kind that the Schuylers drink--and stares at the TV, his mind still running.</p><p>Alex doesn't hate Christmas, but that doesn't mean it's his favorite time of the year either. He used to enjoy it much more, and many parts of it are still enjoyable, but as a whole the quality of Christmas has gone down in recent years. He attributes it to changing. Getting older. He had more stress now, even if his life seemed easier. He no longer had to worry about how he was going to make it to the U.S. He didn't have to worry about getting kicked out of whatever home he was in. He just had to worry about doing his job, and doing it right, and that wasn't a problem. But now, with Mrs. Ramseys sudden departure, Alex was riddled with stress. His muscles are tense and ache with every move he makes, he wakes up with migraines (which the coffee doesn't help) and ibuprofen doesn't help them at all.</p><p>It's the reason he wanted a new teacher so bad. He was staying after almost every day just to help students from Mrs. Ramseys class. He was the one emailing their parents, telling them why their child was failing the class (because the sub can't teach, but he worded it more professionally.). He was the one not eating lunch and skipping his off periods because students needed help. He was doing double the work that he should've been. It wasn't a problem, really, Alex enjoyed working. It got his mind off of things, got him distracted, made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile.</p><p>Alex was hoping that come Monday morning, he would walk past Mrs. Ramseys old parking spot and see a new car instead of an old, beat up white pickup. He'd go into her old classroom and find a new teacher. A qualified teacher. Alex didn't care how old the new teacher was, what they believed, who they were, what they looked like, how they taught--he just cared that they could teach.</p><p>A gnawing hunger clawed at his stomach. The kind of pain that squeezes his stomach, making him feel the urge to vomit everything he didn't eat today, or the days before that. His stomach doesn't even growl, it just contracts, hurting him and making him realize that maybe food is important, and maybe he does need to eat.</p><p>But Alex didn't know how to cook, so he scoured his pantry and the fridge for food. He opened and closed doors again and again, looking behind every spice in his pantry, somehow thinking something will magically show up if he does it enough.</p><p>It doesn't.</p><p>So he orders takeout.</p><p>Alex falls asleep on the couch, no alarm clock to wake him up. Of course, though, he wakes up hours earlier than he needs. He stops to get coffee and food, including some for his friends.</p><p>It's a cold, rainy day, with temperatures hitting the low 30's. Alex bundles up. Gloves that don't really do anything, a jacket that protects him well enough, and pants that are much too thin. The cold nips at his legs and his face. Even with his hood up, Alex can feel the cold air on him. It's times like these that Alex wishes he still had long hair.</p><p>Alex first stop is French, where Lafayette is busy helping a 6th grader write an essay. His accent is thick--it always is, but especially in here--and Alex isn't sure if the kid can even understand him. He leaves a coffee and a croissant on his desk, Lafayette softly thanking him in French on the way out.</p><p>Alex stops by Eliza's class next. It's empty of students, which is surprising, but Eliza is there with Angelica. He gives her two, one for here, one for Jefferson. They both thank him, and Angelica tells him to see Washington.</p><p>Uh oh.</p><p>Alex is nervous on his walk to the office. His backpack is wrapped tightly around him, pulling his jacket tighter on him. It's much warmed inside than out, and Alex is grateful. Except now he's beginning to sweat.</p><p>Aaron is walking to the officer too, likely to his office, and holds the door for Alex on his way in.</p><p>"Alexander." Aaron says, a friendly smile on his lips.</p><p>"Burr," Alex says, "Have you any idea why George is calling me to his office?"</p><p>A flash of confusion makes its way to Aaron's face before a larger smile crosses his lips.</p><p>"I have an idea." Aaron nods, walking with Alex to George's door.</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Aaron shrugs, "Guess you're gonna have to go in."</p><p>Alex rolls his yes but pushes past Burr, opening the door.</p><p>It's a comfortable office. Pictures of his family litter his desk and the walls. His college degree hung on the wall behind him. Inside, he was sitting at his desk, legs crossed, staring at the man in front of him, eyes squinted slightly.</p><p>The man in front of him caught Alex's attention.</p><p>Alex didn't know who he was. He was new. Brand new. Like 'never seen him around town' new.</p><p>"Alexander, thank you for joining us." George says, holding a hand out to motion at the empty chair.</p><p>Alex sits, sliding the backpack off as he sits. The chairs are uncomfortable at best. Alex has never been able to tell if they're wooden or plastic. Probably wooden considering it's Washingtons office. He loves being serious. Alex can barely read the guy.</p><p>"What's the occasion, sir?"</p><p>George looked over at the new man. He had curls that reached his shoulders but were currently tied up behind his head.</p><p>"Alexander, this is John Laurens. You'll be working with him from now on."</p><p>Hamilton does a double take on the man, his eyes scanning his face.</p><p>Johns face is sharp. Hardened. Alex can make out a few small scars here and there. He doesn't smile. His jaw is clenched, and his gaze meets Alex's, but it's nothing more than a blank stare, like he's done it a thousand times before.</p><p>"Laurens," Hamilton tilts his head, "Senator Laurens?"</p><p>The man clenches his jaw further, hesitantly nodding.</p><p>"My father."</p><p>"Oh," Alex says softly, "Oh shit."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I decided to completely redo this story because my first draft sucks, and I suck at revising stories. Therefore, this entire chapter is different, and so the character's arcs are going to be completely different too. The interactions have stayed somewhat the same, but I changed the whole Hamilton and Jefferson rivalry into more of a sibling bond because they practically are now.</p><p>If I get any history wrong in this, blame my 8th grad history teacher. He taught me everything I know, therefore how Hamilton and Laurens teach, and every other teacher for that matter, will be based heavily on the way he taught me.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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